Power of Suggestion

THE POWER OF SUGGESTION

Mike pushed his cart up to the checkout line and studied the racks of tabloids and women's magazines. He was second in line, behind a woman with who was average size above the waist but had a gigantic ass. He watched silently as she piled her high-fat items onto the conveyor belt.

The small upscale grocery was only a few blocks from his house. He recognized most everyone inside, employees and customers alike, from previous visits. His cashier was a regular and had waited on him numerous times before. She had harshly dyed blonde hair over salon tan skin, and wore too much makeup for his taste. Her face had deep creases but she wasn't unattractive. She looked like she was in her early forties but still dressed like she was eighteen, with a spaghetti-strap halter top that didn't quite reach the top of her ultra-tight jeans visible underneath her employee smock. She had a damn good body for someone her age, including a big rack, but her clothes screamed Trailer Park. Mike took her for purebred white trash the first time he saw her, when she sported a small bruise under one eye poorly concealed by makeup. He noticed she tended to talk to the men in her lane a lot more than the women, and he'd heard her flirting with them more than once. He'd checked once – no ring on her finger. She'd engaged him in conversation on his last several visits, now that she recognized him as a regular, trying to pry a little personal information from him. Mike had been mostly unresponsive, which only seemed to encourage her.

Big Ass finally cleared out of the way and Mike moved up. He only had a few items, mostly frozen pizzas and a few bags of fresh fruit, plus a twenty-ounce cold plastic bottle of Diet Coke from the small cooler at the end of the checkout lane. The cashier, whose nametag – of course – read Darla, looked up at Mike and recognized him. She surreptitiously turned and glanced outside. He'd parked his big Mercedes – brand new – within view of the door. She gave him a big smile.

"How you doin' today?" she asked him.

"Fine," he said, tossing the last of his items onto the conveyor.

"I've seen you in here before," Darla said, the big smile still on her face. "You live around here?" She whipped his items across the scanner without even looking.

Mike looked up at her then, and pursed his lips. "Yeah, not too far away." He studied her thin, tanned face openly. She looked like she'd been rode hard and put away wet quite a few times in her life. He was willing to bet that's what she expected out of men, and life, and had probably learned to enjoy it..

"Michael, right?"

She had gotten his name off his credit card a week or two before. He was young and hot, and she'd noticed him the first time he'd walked in. He wasn't too talkative, but she'd noticed the lack of a wedding ring immediately. Not that that made much of a difference to her, if the guy was hot enough. This one was younger than what she usually went for, but the Mercedes had gotten her attention.

"Mike."

"I'm Darla." Her smile widened.

He nodded at her nametag. "I know." He dug out a big wad of bills and handed her two twenties. She pretended not to notice the big wad. He came in shopping at all hours, never buying much. She didn't know what he did for a living, but his hours didn't seem to be regular, and he always had a lot of cash.

She took a deep breath as she made change. "You married?"

Mike paused, and looked her straight in the eyes, almost daring her. "Nope."

She cleared her throat. "You, uh, maybe want to go out to eat sometime? I know this place not too far from here that's got great burgers."

"What time do you get off work?"

"What, uh, today? Um, five."

"I'll pick you up." He grabbed his bag of groceries and the receipt out of her hand.

"Um, but . . ." She looked down at what she was wearing. She thought the smock was hideous; she could only imagine what the cute Mercedes owner must think of it. She looked back up to ask if maybe she had time to go home and change first but he was already through the doors.

Mike caught up to Big Ass in the parking lot where she was bent over inside the rear hatch of a minivan. She glanced over at him when she heard the approaching footsteps.

"If you didn't eat so much crap you wouldn't be so fat," he told her.

The woman straightened up and her mouth opened in surprise. She'd never even seen this guy before.

"Your ass is gigantic," he went on, marveling at its size. Her bottom half was nearly as wide as the back of her minivan. Above the waist she was only slightly chubby, which made her back end seem even bigger.

"Just who do—" she began, as soon as she found her tongue.

"Shut up," he told her tiredly. He never stopped, only slowed down, and began walking faster as he neared his car. "You want a diet tip? You're only allowed to eat a meal after you swallow come."

The large-bottomed woman didn't respond to that, but a skinny middle-aged brunette exiting a nearby car heard what he said and gasped.

"You jackass pig!" she snapped.

Mike recognized this new woman. He saw her quite frequently at the store. His roaming eyes took in her Cadillac and her expensive clothes and two hundred dollar hairdo.

"Who said you could talk to me, you tight-ass trophy-wife bitch?" he snarled back at her. "You're not allowed to talk to me until you can fit this inside your clenched little rear." He tossed her the bottle of Diet Coke, which she caught reflexively. "Whyn't you go home right now and start stretching. You shop on Thursdays?" He pointed at the plastic bottle in her hand. "Next Thursday when you come in, I don't want anything peeking out but the bottlecap and a smile."

He climbed into his car without giving her or Big Ass another look. By the time he was out of the lot both women were in their cars and hurrying for home.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Darla asked him as the waitress took their menus away. She took a long, nervous drag from her cigarette, then a swig from the Bud in front of her.

They'd made small talk in his Mercedes on the way over from the Shop-Mor. She'd seemed a little ill at ease sitting on the fine-grained leather in her denim jacket. Mike had tried to hide his amusement at her discomfort. It was obvious she felt she was a little out of his league. She'd found out she was exactly twenty years older than him, old enough to be his mother. He looked older, but was really only twenty-three. If she'd known that she probably wouldn't have asked him out. She knew he could get younger, prettier women than her.

"Smoking's bad for you," he responded.

She squinted at him curiously, then nodded. "I know. God knows I've tried to quit half a dozen times. Always start right back up." She stared at her nails, which of course looked like crap, and she didn't have the bottle with her for a touch-up.

Mike nodded slowly. He stared at her tits under her thin top, wrapped in a bra just a hair too small. She had cleavage to spare. "Like the car?"

She looked at him, then smiled a little, almost guiltily, and glanced down briefly. "Yeah." She'd just been thinking about his car. How much did something like that cost? Fifty grand? More? She could barely afford next month's four-hundred-dollar house payment. When she saw him staring at her tits she inwardly sighed with relief and arched her back just lightly. Guys had been staring at her tits since the day they'd sprouted and they hadn't let her down yet. "Smells new." She sucked down the rest of her Bud, then looked around for the waitress.

"It is." He stared at her tits some more. Very nice. Big, double D's probably, and they had to be real, she didn't have the money for a boob job. He watched her sucking down more smoke. Women who smoked, he'd found, were usually much more oral than non-smokers -- in every way.

She stared at him earnestly, appraisingly, almost hungrily. This could get interesting, he thought .

"You want to know what I do?" he asked her.

"Yeah."

"Nothing."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Nothing?"

He nodded. "Not a damn thing."

She wasn't sure if he was joking or not, then her eyebrows went up. "Inheritance?" she said, trying to conceal her excitement but failing.

Mike gave a little chuckle. "Nope. I'm a freelance consultant for about a dozen companies."

"Really? What kind of consultant? What do you do?"

"Like I said, not a damn thing. They pay me and I cash the checks, and I don't do a thing."

Now she seemed confused. "Then what are they paying you for?"

Mike smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Darla raised her eyebrows and looked at him. The change in light as she tilted her head made her wrinkles deepen with shadow. Her nose was a little too big for her face, he noticed. "Try me," she said tauntingly.

Mike tilted his head. So she wanted to play? He was really starting to like her. What the hell.

"You see this?" he asked her, turning his head and pulling his hair back a little. He stuck his forefinger out and buried it thumbnail deep in a divot she hadn't noticed above his left ear near the top of his head.

"Oooh, what happened?"

"Car accident," he told her. "When I was seventeen. I wasn't driving, a friend of mine was. Neither of us were wearing seatbelts. I went through the windshield. He ended up getting killed. Even with this big dent in my head, I felt fine. No bleeding, not a scratch on me. Didn't even hurt. They ran all sorts of tests, said I was a lucky bastard, and let me out two days later. It took me two or three months to notice something strange was going on."

"What?"

He smiled, and shook his head. "If I tell you to do something, you'll do it. Not just you, any woman. And you'll think it was your own free will. Doesn't work on guys, I don't really know why. With women it works every time."

She laughed. "What?"

"I know. I'm crazy, I'm a nut. That's why I don't mind telling you. Nobody believes it."

"What do you mean, they do what you tell them? Like what?"

He shrugged. "Anything. If I told you to rip off your clothes and dance around the table naked, or set your head on fire, you'd do it."

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. He shrugged again. "Told you you wouldn't believe me."

She blinked a couple of times. "What does this have to do with consulting?"

"All the companies that pay me are owned by women. They're small enough so that they don't have stockholders that'll get suspicious, and yet won't go broke paying me. I went in there and told them to pay me a salary and put me on the books as a freelance consultant. So they did."

She lit up another cigarette and stared at him through the smoke. Just her luck. "Boy, you sure don't look crazy, but I guess I can still pick 'em." She knew there had to be a reason he was still single.

He smiled at her. He really was starting to like her. "Sorry," he said with a big smile.

She shook her head again. "So tell me to do something," she suggested. "Bark like a dog, or pretend I'm a chicken."

He laughed out loud. "I could, but it wouldn't work. I mean, you'd think you were doing it because you wanted to. That you just changed your mind or something."

"Uh huh." She tapped some ash into the ashtray. Their waitress appeared then with another beer for Darla. Mike watched her for a second, as she leaned over the table, then noticed Darla staring at him. She jerked her head ever so slightly at the waitress, a smirk on her face. Like she was daring him.

Mike glanced up at the waitress. She was a skinny teenager with long blonde hair and a few zits she'd tried to hide with too much makeup. Her nametag read KRISTEEN. She had on a green uniform polo shirt over khakis. Over the khakis was the small pocket-laden apron stuffed with straws, napkins, and her order book.

"Kristeen," he said, as she straightened up to go. She turned slightly toward him, slightly breathless from running around. The restaurant was nearly full.

"Yes?"

Her breasts weren't very big, maybe big B-cups in a bra whose white straps occasionally peeked out, but underneath the baggy khakis it looked like she had a firm, tight ass.

"Tell me the truth," Mike said, "what kind of panties are you wearing?"

"Thong," the young waitress answered without hesitation. Darla looked up at her, then glanced at Mike, who was smiling and having a great time.

"Really," he said happily. "So you're a slut?"

"No," she replied, without any rancor. "I just like the way they make my ass look. And feel."

"Okay. Why don't you go into the bathroom and take your bra and thong off. Throw your bra away, you don't need it. Then come back out here and show me your thong. And don't forget to put the rest of your clothes back on."

"Okay.' She turned on her heel and disappeared toward the restrooms. Mike sat back and looked at his date.

Darla didn't say anything for a while. "She a friend of yours?" she asked after a while.

"Never seen her before in my life," Mike replied. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Kristeen returned to the table. It was obvious to both of them she'd taken her bra off. Her small breasts jiggled enthusiastically under her shirt as she walked across the floor. A white satin thong was crumpled in her hand and she held it out for Mike to see.

"Thanks," he said. "Not much fabric to it, is there? Why don't you eat it while you're checking to see if our order's up."

"Okay," the young girl said cheerfully. She popped the ball of white fabric into her mouth and began chewing as she turned and walked away. Mike looked across the table at Darla, who looked both angry and shocked.

"How much are you paying her? That was disgusting."

"Told ya, never seen her before in my life. As for disgusting," he paused and stared at her pointedly, "you need to work on your acting. I've just met you and I'd bet you've had things in your mouth that would make that thong taste like a breath mint."

She colored and angrily stubbed out her cigarette. Before she could respond Kristeen returned with their food. They both watched her chewing busily as she laid their plates on the table. "Don't ever wear a bra," Mike told her. "And when you're giving head, always swallow."

"Okay," she said, a half-chewed lump of thong in her cheek. "Is there anything else you need right now?"

Mike looked down at his food, then at Darla's. "No, I think we're fine," he told her. "You can throw whatever's left of that thong away."

"Thanks. Just let me know if you need anything." She turned on her heel and disappeared.

"These do look like good burgers." Mike looked up at his date, who looked like she'd lost her appetite. She stared at him, nervously sucking at her cigarette. He could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head.

"Did she really do that just because you told her to?" she asked after a minute.

"Yep," Mike said around a mouthful of burger.

She picked up her bottle of beer and quickly drank half of it down. "I think you know her, that you're pulling a scam," she said.

Mike shrugged. "Could be," he admitted. He finished chewing and stared at her. "But you're soaking wet just thinking about the possibilities, aren't you?" he said quietly. "That maybe I can make you do whatever I want just by telling you."

Her face turned dark red and she puffed furiously on her cigarette, but she didn't say anything. Her nipples were hard as rocks though her blouse. She hadn't touched her food yet. Mike took another bite of the big burger and chewed slowly. After he swallowed, he said, "If I tell you, or even ask you to do what she just did, I won't know if it's you doing it of your own free will or not."

She blinked and looked at him through the cigarette smoke. "Are you telling me you want me to go into the bathroom and—"

"If I tell you, you'll do it," Mike said pointedly, his voice free of doubt. "I'm tired of telling women what to do. It's getting boring. I want one that'll do it just because she wants to do it and not because I tell her to."

Darla finished another cigarette, not saying anything, and pushed around the fries on her plate while Mike worked at his burger. Suddenly she stood up from the table, paused a second, then turned and walked off. Mike kept eating, not looking up to see if she was heading for the bathrooms or the exit. He ate another four bites, sipping at his pop, and then Darla was back, standing beside her chair.

She seemed out of breath, and looked flushed. Her nipples were hard as rocks and every man in the restaurant who could see her could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. Mike held out his hand.

Her hand quivering, Jenny placed a wadded up ball of black satin in his palm. He could tell just from the amount of material that it was a thong. With a shuddering breath she sat back down in her seat and picked up her fork.

Mike set the wadded up underwear on the table next to his plate and watched as it partially unfurled. He looked across the table and saw Darla was staring at it as well.

"Do you want me to tell you to do something?" he asked her quietly.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She sat like that for over a minute, her face conflicted.

"You're a total slut, aren't you?" he said.

She licked her lips, coloring just slightly, then looked him in the eye. "Yes."

"Say it."

"What?"

"You heard me."

She sat and looked at him for just a second. "I'm a slut," she said in a voice husky with passion.

"Just a slut?" he prompted with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm a total slut," she told him.

"Really?"

"I'm a dirty little whore," she breathed. "The only thing I'm good at is fucking."

Mike smiled, and picked his burger back up. "I thought so."

In the restaurant parking lot, Mike sat behind the wheel and looked across the car at Darla, who was still breathing rapidly. Even in the shadowed interior he could see her hard nipples poking at her shirt. He'd left her panties sitting on the table next to the tip. She seen that but hadn't commented, just silently followed him out to the big Mercedes.

Jesus, I can't believe I'm doing this , she thought, as she stared at his silhouette. When he shifted on the seat, though, turning slightly toward her, she found herself sliding across the leather to him. A voice in her head echoed quietly: He's young enough to be my son, but the thought only got her more excited .

Mike said nothing as she expertly undid his belt and pants and sucked him into her mouth. He was soft at first, but the self-professed white trash slut was an expert cocksucker, as he'd suspected, and in no time had all eight and a quarter of his inches down her throat. He reached under her with one hand and undid the two buttons on her top so he could play with her surprisingly firm tits. Her nipples felt as hard as they looked and she groaned as he pinched them.

He squeezed and pinched her nipples and breasts, but the abuse only heightened her excitement. She was a drooler and a slurper, and soon the car echoed with the wet sounds of her bobbing, sucking mouth.

Mike said nothing when he was getting close, only placed one hand lightly on the back of her neck. She increased her pace, and a few seconds later he grunted and began spurting. She slurped even louder and swallowed it all, as he knew she would.

She sucked until she was sure she had it all, then sat up and wiped her mouth. Mike said nothing, just glanced from her down to his still undone pants. She bent back over and carefully stashed his equipment away before zipping up his pants and wrestling with his belt.

Mike started the car and put it into gear, pulling out of the parking lot as Darla slid back over to her side of the car. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her tits bounce as the Mercedes' wheels hit a pothole.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then he saw her shaking her head. "I'm an idiot," she said, finally buttoning up her blouse. She looked at him inside the dark car. "Crazy. You're fucking scamming me with a line of bullshit and I fucking fell for it. Hell, I still half believe it. And I don't even know who the hell you are."

He smiled. "Yes you do. And I know who you are." His eyes moved up to the rearview mirror, and he frowned.

"What?" She looked out the back window and saw a police car behind them with its lights going. Mike pulled the Mercedes to the curb with a sigh.

"I wasn't even speeding," he told her. "It's the car. Envy, or something."

Between the red and blue flashers and the spotlight aimed right at his side mirror all Mike could see of the officer was a silhouette until he was next to the car. By that time he had his license, registration, and proof of insurance in his hand and the window down.

"Was I speeding?" he asked tiredly, as the officer stopped at his elbow.

"You don't know how fast you were going, sir?"

Mike glanced up at the officer, then smiled widely, almost beaming. He turned to look across the car at Darla, then back up at the officer.

"Tell me the truth, why'd you stop me?" he asked.

"I saw the car. You're rich, you can afford a ticket, and I've got a quota," the female cop told him brusquely.

The officer had brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and a pinched face. Under the bulky Kevlar vest and duty belt it was hard to tell what kind of body she had but she wasn't fat.

"Tell you what," Mike told her with a smile. "I'll consider this a warning, and you can ticket somebody else to make your quota.'

"Yes Sir."

Mike glanced over at Darla. Her mouth was open slightly, and she had an expression of disbelief on her face. He looked back at the cop, who'd closed her ticket book.

"Hey, that's nice, what is that, a Glock? Hand me your gun, please."

"Yes Sir." The cop unholstered her pistol and handed it to Mike, making sure not to point it at him. Mike turned to Darla and just let her look at the gun for a minute before turning back to the officer.

"Could you bend down here please? Good. Now, open your mouth." Mike put the muzzle of the pistol into the officer's open mouth. He looked over his shoulder at Darla, who was too terrified to speak. "Suck it. Harder. Slurp a little. Good, very good."

"Thank you." He pulled the gun out of the woman's mouth and handed it back to her. "Hey, do you have a baton? Let me see it."

The cop reached behind her back and produced a short black shaft about eight inches long. "That's it? Seems kinda short."

"It's telescoping," she told him.

"Hmm." He studied her for a few seconds. "They say a lot of female cops are lesbians. Tell me, are you?"

"Yes, I am," she said immediately.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes."

Mike handed her his driver license. "Here, copy down my address. Film the two of you having sex. Use the baton, on yourself if she won't let you do it to her. Send me a copy of the tape. I want it within two weeks."

"Yes Sir." She scribbled his address into a small spiral notebook, then handed the license back to him.

"You have a nice night," he told her.

"You too sir. Drive safe." She turned around and walked back toward the flashing lights of her cruiser. Mike put the Mercedes into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb.

"Oh my fucking God!" Darla exclaimed. She stared out the back window of the big sedan, watching the lights of the police car fade into the distance. Then the lights went off and she could see the cruiser pull a U-turn.

"Told ya."

"You really can do it! It's like mind control or something! You just say it and they do it? Like they're hypnotized?" Unconsciously she had a hand between her legs, squeezing.

"Well, I guess it is a little like hypnotism, but everybody's awake."

He could hear her heavy breathing. "So you could tell me to do anything," she panted, "and I'd do it?"

"Yes."

"Run around naked, rob a bank, set my house on fire, fuck a dog?"

"Near as I've been able to tell." Interesting choices , he thought.

She was silent for several long minutes. She sat half-facing him, but in the passing lights he couldn't really make out her face. He could hear her breathing, though, which remained heavy.

"And you're a sick, twisted, son of a bitch," she said finally.

Mike smiled at her in the dark. "You bet your ass."

"God, I'm soaking wet," she panted.

"Is this it?"

"Yeah."

Mike studied the small single-story house through the windshield. It needed new siding and the detached one-car garage had definite support problems, but it wasn't a complete hovel. Over dinner he'd learned she was forty-three, twice divorced and childless, had three tattoos, and owned a seven-year-old Buick which was currently in the shop for a new transmission, which she wasn't sure she could afford.

"Want to come in?" she asked him, desperately trying not to sound desperate.

He sat against his door, not saying anything for a while. Finally he said, "I can have any woman I want do anything I want, and think it's her idea. And I do, a lot . But it gets old. I'm looking for someone who doesn't need me to tell them what to do. I'm a sick, twisted, perverted bastard and after almost six years of being able to tell any woman I meet what to do, and have her do it, I've seen and done everything, twice. And I'm going to keep doing it, even if you're around." He sat silent for another ten seconds. The perks she could figure out for herself. "You interested?"

She gave him another frenzied blowjob sitting right there at the curb in front of her house, gulping down his come noisily. She sat up, her tits still hanging out of her top, and he played with them for a few minutes inside the dark car.

"I don't like a lot of makeup,' he told her, making sure not to tell her. "And I prefer my women shaved." He sat and looked at her for a few seconds, then reached out and roughly pinched her nipples. She gasped and shuddered and arched her back ever so slightly. "How wet are you?" he asked

Her hand went between her legs. She'd soaked her jeans through. "Sopping."

"Good. What time do you get off work tomorrow?"

"Five."

He found a piece of paper inside the glove box and scribbled on it. "This is where I live," he told her. She took the paper, looked at him intently, and nodded. She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the Mercedes, not bothering to tuck her tits back in, then leaned back down as if to talk to him. Mike waited, then saw that she had leaned over only to show him her bare dangling tits. She shook them from side to side gently, then closed the car door and walked away toward her house.